echoes through the cavity,
a fleshy canyon.
Drip drip drip
a cloth being rung out--
rung dry and left to hang
from a noose on the giving tree,
on what’s left of her limbs.
Drip drip drip
from crimson sap escaping the sides
of a mouth turned down,
left agape.
They are tears crashing to the earth,
feeding the crops
like some almighty feast.
Drip drip drip
goes what’s left of her--
what the soil hasn’t swallowed,
what the wolves haven’t inhaled,
what the rats and worms
wait to feast upon.
Into the pit, her grave
it drips.